Saturday Morning, July 18, 2026
Diamond in the Rough
SAFE! A dust cloud billowed up obscuring the players now entangled across second base. Unlocking their embrace, they rose brushing off their uniforms. Another July game, complete with heat, scratches, and sweat. No wonder. The sun, attempting to burn through an ever-overcast sky, was compromised with the byproduct of Pittsburgh's belching steel mills. An orange glow illuminated the midday sandlot.
Art Nouveau dresser box. L. Ostermayr, Nurnberg.
Like life, there is a story inside every box.
Sand would be a luxury. Instead, base lines were rocky. Each till of the ground turned up more stones than soil. The infield was spotty weeds at best. The outfield stretched into swampland. Dust and debris rained down upon the players and spectators. Only one difference separated the sky from the ground, one was taste, the other smell. But it was home and a day off for thousands of hard-working dedicated people.
Give me your Tired, your Poor...
Pennsylvania, 1900. The routine of work, the grind for survival whittled away lives. Nothing was simple, easy, or free. Life wasn't fair. No one expected it so. Bitter lessons better learned early.
Baseball team, ca. 1900, 6½" x 8½"
Family traces back to Becks Run Road, a small community south of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Players' names noted on reverse.
In the late nineteenth century, immigrants flocked to these industrial regions across America. No matter the hardship, it was far better from where they emigrated. Here, one had a job, a chance, a hope. Work offered a flicker flame on life's dark hearth. Conditions change, never people. On their day off, they sought escapes. Sunday picnics in the country. Movies, spawned for this emerging middle class, were silent at first, but no less entertaining. Then there was baseball. Teams appeared everywhere. Leagues sprouted in every meadow. Vacant lots were reconstituted into diamonds. Everyone knew someone who played. This week we glimpse into one spot carved out along the Monongahela River south of Pittsburgh, tucked into a rivulet named Beck's Run.
Becks Run baseball team, dated 1932, 4½"x 6½".
We have uncovered a mine of memories from Becks Run, a community where this rivulet enters the Monongahela River.
Talkin 'Bout my Generation
We tag first base meeting Walter Linnert. He stares back at us from his convex color highlighted photo portrait. We owe his existence to this unusual ephemeral trail. He sat for the photographer wearing his Becks Run baseball uniform. He sits proud. Despite the endless toil of labor, he wants remembrance for his success on the field.
Oval convex highlighted photo portrait, 19½"x 13½".
Walter Linnert, ca. 1910. His son, born in 1917, would also play in the 1930's.
Reprinted photo from the original. Study the image carefully. Erie Railroad trestle backdrops the field. The mountain slope is important to this photo. Then study the photo below taken during the flood of March 18, 1936.
Walter lived during the sports dead-ball era, a period stretching from 1900 to 1919. So named because the baseballs, when hit, lacked pop. Home runs were rare. Instead, victory was attained through singles, doubles and stolen bases. Ty Cobb, champ of stolen bases, playing between 1905 and 1928 is an example. He never hit over ten home runs per season until 1921. To solve the dead ball syndrome, cork was added and cordage was wrapped tighter. It was then the sky lit up with long balls. The hop returned to the hit.
Field of Means
Walter's son, born in 1917, followed his father's baseline footsteps, playing league in the 1930's. His team photo, dated 1932, places him on the field at fifteen. As the steel industry roared, so too did the crowds. In Becks Run, games were scheduled around the weather. The field, nestled among the mountains, rivulet, and railroad trestle, disappeared when the rains arrived. But when the sun shined, games were on.
Flood of 1936. Note the railroad trestle to the left.
The mountain slope is an important feature also.
On the other side of this structure is the baseball field in the above photograph. A far cry from the PNC
Field, home to today's Pittsburgh Pirates.
Their connection is the DNA helix of baseball. The latter may have never existed if it had not been for the former. There are far harder trails to blaze than running from homeplate to first base.
Today, the land is abandoned, a community swallowed by time. Duquesne Power & Light now owns the field. It sits vacant, not a trace of the grandeur it meant to so many. Rains come and go. The river rises and falls. Summer sun and winter storms bookmark time. But, if you set quietly, close your eyes and listen, you just may feel the energy that once pierced the pungent air. Though those generations have vanished, the factories closed, neighborhoods emptied, a vitality still lingers as faint as a gentle breeze. Listen, did you really hear those immortal words? BATTER UP!
Unknown Pittsburgh glass factory.
Baseball, the relief pitcher, 8" x 10".
Pittsburgh was the primary producer of American glass, beginning in 1797.
Back this Saturday to your escape. Doors open at 8 AM. Auction starts at 9 AM. PA AU 1265L [bb]